Chapter 3
Slate
I’m in a shit ass mood the next day at work. Scivvy didn’t show up and Joel keeps giving me the evil eye. My desk is a fucking mess with paperwork and I’m feeling overwhelmed. Thankfully, I don’t have any clients until this afternoon. Not long after ten, Joel walks in with his arms crossed and shuts the door behind him.
“What?” I snap at him and continue rummaging through the pile of papers as I look for my check register.
“I hired her,” he says knowingly. I can tell from his stance, he’s ready for a fight. His jaw clenches furiously.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who?”
“Jolie.”
I slam my hands on the desk and stand quickly.
“You did what?” I seethe. Joel knows how she was the reason why I went to prison in the first place.
“For one, man, the chick has a bruise and a cut that I’m pretty sure you gave to her last night. You’re lucky she didn’t call the cops on your ass.”
“She fell off the goddamn bed!” I scream at him. This bitch is trying to ruin my life again?
“Yes, that’s what she said too. Whatever, man. Anyway, she worked over a decade at a bank in their accounting department. She’s desperate for a job after being let go and I think she could help us out. You’re fucking drowning in this shit and she could really help us. Plus you two need to work that shit out.”
“Joel, undo it. Tell her to fucking leave,” I tell him calmly. Instead, he stands his ground and approaches me.
“No, Slate. We’re going to try this out. I’m afraid if we don’t get the business side of things sorted out, you’ll lose this place. I know you don’t want that, man. So, just trust me.”
I’m burning with rage right now. That bitch ruined my life. I went to prison for her. And even though I could have been back out in six months, the rage from her betrayal towards me caused me to take my anger out on everyone in my warpath, including a couple of guards that earned me a couple extra years. The bitch absolutely ruined my life. I was going to wait for her. She was just too fucking impatient and ruined everything. I hate her.
Turning down the anger a few notches, I honestly told him my thoughts. “Joel, I hate her. Absolutely fucking hate her. What if I lose it and hurt her? You need to be prepared for that shit because you have no fucking idea how outraged I am with her.”
“Slate, just let her help us get things in order. I can feel the remorse from her—it practically drips from every word out of her mouth. Once we get back on the right track, you can take pride in firing her. It can be your vengeance,” he suggests. His eyes are guarded. I know him well enough that he has other motivations for hiring her. What those motivations are, I’m not sure yet.
“Fine, send her in. We’ll get right to work. I don’t have a client until this afternoon,” I exhale. He exits the room quickly, leaving me to my thoughts. It will give me pride to make her life a living hell like she made mine. The thought makes me smile. I quickly drop it when she peeks her head in the door. I’m furious that my dick reacts to seeing her as she slips inside, closing the door behind her.
She’s wearing a pencil skirt with a matching blazer. A pink camisole peeks out from underneath. Her face is nervous and she clasps her hands together as if she doesn’t know what else to do. To make her squirm, I take in her appearance slowly. Her hair is beautifully styled just as it was last night. A bandaid is affixed on her forehead just above her eyebrow from her fall last night. She’s done up her makeup nicely and her plump, pouty lips are a dark shade of pink that matches her camisole.
My eyes skitter down to her bare legs that lead to a very high pair of black heels. I’m pissed as I envision her in nothing but the heels. My dick strains against my jeans. Pushing away the thought, I glare at her.
“You’re dressed too nice for a tattoo parlor. Lose the blazer,” I instruct. She jumps, but doesn’t argue as she unbuttons the two buttons and slides it off, draping it over the chair. The bitch isn’t wearing a bra underneath her tight pink cami.
“Did you get your tits done?” I ask, crossing my arms while I blatantly check them out.
“Yeah, a few years ago. Tucker wanted me to,” she says softly as she avoids my gaze.
“Who the fuck is Tucker?” I demand as I approach her. For some reason, I feel a twinge of jealousy and it’s almost enough to make me lose my shit.
“Tucker is my ex-husband. Our divorce was finalized not long ago,” she says.
“Whatever, I don’t care. You’re going to help me figure this shit out,” I snap, once again making her jump. My mind is flooded with thoughts of her riding me as her tits bounced. I wonder if she has any bruises from my bites. Before I can stop myself, I ask her a question.
“Are you bruised on your thigh?” I inquire and trail my gaze to between her legs. Her face turns red and she nods. Approaching her quickly, I try not to inhale her perfume when I get practically chest to chest with her.
“Show me,” I demand. Her eyes widen, but she nods as she lifts her skirt some. Dropping to my knees, I place my hands around the front of her thighs and slowly push the skirt up more until I can barely see her panties. Dark bruises color the inside of her thigh making me grin. Against my brain’s wishes, I lean over and softly kiss them, my lips lingering on her flesh. I can smell her essence and it’s so hot. Her gasp snaps me back out of my sudden lapse of judgment. Who knows what I was about to do.
Yanking back down her skirt, I stand suddenly causing her to take a couple of steps backward.
“Let’s get started,” I tell her gruffly and storm back over to my desk. She shakes her head slightly as to clear her head and walks over to the desk.
“Sure, um, what sort of accounting software do you use,” she asks nervously.
Digging around under some papers, I finally find my check register and hand it to her. As she opens it, she frowns.
“Don’t be a judgmental bitch. Some of us weren’t awarded a fucking education,” I snap harshly at her. Tears fill her eyes, but she brushes it off and changes the subject.
“Um, okay. Let’s start by making a list of all of your bills, including payroll. I can start a spreadsheet if you want,” she says hesitantly.
I nod and stand so she can sit at my computer. We spend the next two hours going through the stacks on my desk as she creates a spreadsheet of where things are coming and going. I’ll never admit it, but she’s already helped me out considerably. I can see the surface of my desk.
She’s still lost in thought as she inputs stuff in the computer. I hadn’t really noticed until now but her features are sad. Something claws at her heart—that much is evident. Even though I hate her, I can’t help but want to know what it is that hurts her.
“Time for lunch,” I say standing. Stretching my arms above me, I catch her glance at my stomach that is momentarily visible. I don’t miss the hunger in her eyes.
“Oh, okay, sure. I’ll meet you back here in what, thirty minutes? An hour?” she asks as she heads for the door.
“Nope, you’re coming with me. We’ll drop by the office supply store and gather everything, including that program you mentioned, after lunch,” I declare.
“Um, sounds good,” she whispers.
“Put your jacket back on though. I don’t need bastards checking you out the whole time,” I order.
Her knowing grin angers me and I storm out of the office with her trailing behind me. How can I hate her and want to fuck her at the same damn time?